


I Got In Your Heart (And I Shook You Up)

by faithfulpenelope



Series: Your Crystal Ball (Ain't So Crystal Clear) [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Post-Star Trek Beyond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-30 12:10:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8532535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithfulpenelope/pseuds/faithfulpenelope
Summary: Bones finds out about the Vice-Admiral application.





	1. Chapter 1

It’s strange, being stationary.

McCoy knows that they are not actually stationary, any more than he would be on Earth; the station rotates just as a planet would, albeit with a much smaller, shorter orbit. And it is not as if you could feel the movement of the ship through space, not unless the dampeners were acting up, and even then it was only when Sulu dropped them in and out of warp. No, it was the stars that bothered him: at Yorktown, they are tight pinpricks of light, small and fixed, inescapable under the walls of transparent aluminum that make up the station, so unlike the streaks of blurry light that would stream past the small window of his Enterprise quarters. He doesn’t know what’s stranger: that streaming through the universe at warp speed has become, at some insane point, his normal, or that he can honestly say that he misses it. He reveals as much to Jim one night, who just cackles with glee and tries to get him to say it again so he can record it.

“Fuck off,” he grunts, shoving Jim against the end of the couch. Jim squirms out from under his hand and laughs.

“I told you I’d bring you over to my side one day,” he gloats. “Congratulations on resisting it for this long.”

For now, though, they’re stationary, assigned to temporary duty at Yorktown until the Fleet finishes construction of the new Enterprise. Yorktown’s medical facilities are, like the rest of the station, state of the art and well-manned, and McCoy is able to keep a light enough schedule to finally focus on writing all those medical articles he’s been thinking about for years. He’s in his new office off the main medbay, finishing up his latest paper – _The Corrosive Nature of Roylan Nasal Excretions During Times of Illness and the Effects Thereof on Titanium Infrastructure_ (or, as McCoy has mentally subtitled it, _For the Love of God, Don’t Let Them Sneeze on the Core_ ) – when someone behind him discretely clears their throat. He turns expecting the station’s CMO, or even Jim, and is surprised to see Commodore Paris standing there.

“Commodore.” He snaps to attention, smoothing down his uniform shirt subconsciously. “I apologize, I didn’t hear you come in.”

She waves a well-manicured hand in a _not to worry_ gesture. “You were engrossed in your work. It was good to see. What are you working on?” He hands her his PADD and she makes a soft _ah_ noise. “Your junior engineer, correct? I understand he was an integral part of the crew determining Krall’s intentions.”

“Never thought we’d be so grateful for toxic mucas,” McCoy snarks, the words flying out just ahead of his brain’s admonishment of _you’re talking to a commodore, jackass,_ but Paris just laughs, gives a shrug.

“You never know what may become useful this far out,” she agrees, and McCoy allows himself a small smile.

“Is there something you needed, Commodore?”

She sighs. “I’ve a bit of a headache from reviewing the new maps of the nebula with Captain Kirk and his team,” she admits. “Your Ensign Chekov is a genius but trying to keep up with him for prolonged periods of time can be a bit…taxing.”

McCoy snorts. “You think he moves fast now, you should have seen him at seventeen,” he says. “But I’m glad to hear of a senior officer who’s willing to admit when they need a break. Hopefully you’ll be able to teach Jim some of that common sense.”

“The captain does seem to always be in movement,” Paris agrees. “That’s why I was so surprised when I received his application for the Vice-Admiral position.”

McCoy’s got his back to her, typing out the command for a mild pain-reliever into the replicator, so she doesn’t see him freeze, doesn’t see the shock that fills his face. For a brief moment he thinks he must have misheard, but no, what she had said had been clear as day.

_His application for the Vice-Admiral position._

Jim hadn’t said a word about any vice-admiral position. Hadn’t said anything about changing roles or leaving the Enterprise.

About leaving Leonard.

“Jim Kirk is not the type to be confined to one place, even a station such as Yorktown,” Paris is saying, and McCoy wants to shake her, scream _what the hell Vice-Admiral position_ , but he keeps his mouth shut instead, lets her keep talking as he tries to keep the hypo in his hand steady. “While I know he would perform more than admirably, I must admit I was somewhat relieved when he turned down my acceptance.”

The hypo goes tumbling out of McCoy’s numb fingers, skipping across his desk, and he sputters out a weak apology as he grabs for it.

_Her acceptance._

Jim hadn’t just applied, he won the job. Had thought about it long enough to see the process through from beginning to end and had, at no point, though to mention it to Leonard. It’s enough to make his whole body go cold.

“Dr. McCoy? Are you all right?”

He snaps back to himself but doesn’t meet Paris’s gaze. “Fine, fine. Too much time with a stylus in my hand.” The hypo hisses against her neck. “There you go. Should start to feel the effects in just a few minutes. If the problem persists, let me know.”

“I feel I’ve upset you,” Paris says evenly, and McCoy winces, pulls up his best game face before turning to face her.

“Not at all,” he says. “I’m just fine.”

“I wouldn’t normally speak so freely, but I know you and the captain are quite close,” she says, and she can’t know it, but it’s like she’s sunk a knife into his gut.

“Oh, sure,” he says feebly, biting back the demented laugh that threatens to claw its way out. “Best friends since the academy. “ He puts on his best _trust me, I’m a doctor_ smile. “But, uh, just try to limit your time with maps of nebulas. And, you know, Russian ensigns trying to explain said maps.”

Paris laughs lightly, thanks him, and then the doors are sliding shut behind her and McCoy collapses into his chair.

_Jim was going to leave the Enterprise._

The thought itself, it’s like it’s not even in Standard, for all the sense it makes. The Enterprise hadn’t just been their ship; it had been their _home_. Their home _together_. And if he admits it to himself, that’s what hurts more than anything, the part he doesn’t understand.

Not that Jim would ever leave the Enterprise. That Jim would leave him. That Jim would think about leaving and not even talk to him about it.

The thought makes him sick to his stomach.

They're the keepers of each other’s secrets, he and Jim: of his father’s death and his divorce, of Jim’s abusive step-father and Tarsus and the pressure of living under George Kirk’s shadow. After Khan – after Jim had died, and Leonard had brought him back, kicking and screaming – there’s been a long month where they danced around each other, both fighting their own guilt and fear, but they’d found their way back, hashed it out over a bottle of Scotty’s moonshine. The night had ended with them both sick on the bathroom floor but _them_ again.

They always told the truth to each other, even if it was ugly and hard; it was how their relationship survived. It was how they kept sane. It was how Jim withstood the weight of command and Leonard dealt with trying to save lives on a ship that seemed determined to take them. So if it seemed a little ridiculous to Leonard’s rational self that he was sitting here in his office, damn near crying because Jim hadn’t let him on his plan, well, at least his heart understood.

His comm beeps, an alert that a patient is waiting, and McCoy rubs his eyes dry, tries to pull himself together. Whatever he and Jim have to say to each other – if Jim plans on saying anything at all – will have to wait.

After all, it’s waited this long already.


	2. Chapter 2

As it is, he doesn’t end up waiting much longer. Jim shows up unannounced at his door later that evening. He’s got that grin on, the one that means he’s looking to make trouble, whether in the barroom or the bedroom.

Leonard waves him in, sits back in his chair without a word and lets Jim spill out his plans for the evening. _Of course he assumes I’ll just be tagging behind_ , he thinks bitterly, because in the few hours since Paris left him his shock and sadness have given away to anger. The anger of a man left behind.

“ – so I told Sulu we’d meet him. We got like, twenty minutes, so we better get going.” He finally pauses, seems to notice that Leonard hasn’t moved, hasn’t looked at him once since he walked in the door. “Bones? You okay?”

“I’m fine, Jim,” he says automatically, his voice flat as an AI’s. “Just peachy.”

“That’s a bold-faced lie,” Jim retorts. He sits on the table in front of Leonard, tries to pull his gaze over but Leonard fixes it at some distant point. “What’s wrong?”

There’s a part of him that just wants to refuse Jim the satisfaction of responding, wants to just ice him out, but he finds himself speaking instead. “Had a visit from Commodore Paris today.”

He’s got Jim in his peripheral vision and he sees him still. “Oh yeah?” Jim says, and Leonard knows he’s the only one who could have caught the false calm there. “What did she have to say?”

“Came by with a headache. Apparently long periods of an over-enthusiastic Chekov were too much for her.”

“Yeah, well.” Jim huffs out a little laugh. “Not everyone has our tolerance levels.”

Leonard turns his head, finally meets Jim’s gaze. “Then she told me about you and the Vice-Admiral position,” he says, calm as could be, and watches the panic flicker across Jim’s face. He’s quiet for a long second.

“I, uh –” He swallows hard. “I’m not sure if that’s appropriate for her to be talking about.”

Leonard almost laughs in his face, because of course that’s what Jim’s worried about, his secret getting out. “Relax,” he bites out. “She said she only said anything to me because she was sure I knew about it, what with us being such _good friends_ and all.”

That makes Jim wince, hard. “Bones, look –” he starts, but Leonard cuts him off with a sharp wave.

“Don’t feel you have to explain yourself to me, Jim. It’s your life, not mine.” He hauls himself up, pours himself a liberal amount of bourbon from the open bottle on his counter. “I mean, it’s not like we’ve told each other everything for the last ten years. It’s not like we’ve been _fucking_ each other for the last ten years.” The bottle slams down against the table, amber liquid sloshing over his fingers. “It’s not like I’m up here in the _god-forsaken black because of you_.”

“Bones, stop,” Jim pleads, and his hand is strong wrapped around Leonard’s bicep. “Let me talk to you. Let me explain.”

He yanks his arm free, faces Jim full-on. “Is that why you came to me?” he demands. “Is that why you wanted me to fuck you? Was that your way of saying _goodbye_?”

Jim’s face cracks open in surprise and pain and he recoils back. “What – _No, Jesus_ , Bones, do you think I would do that to you?”

He doesn’t, he really doesn’t, and he knows it’s wrong to say, but he’s hurting and he wants Jim to hurt too, so he just shrugs. Jim lets out a pained noise, wraps his arms around himself. “For fuck’s sake, I wouldn’t do that to you,” he swears. “And as for the position – Bones, it was just a thought, a novel notion. I don’t understand why you’re making such a big deal out of it.”

“It was a big enough deal that you sent in an application,” Bones spits out. “It was a big enough deal that they accepted that application.”

“And I turned it down and now it’s done,” Jim argues stubbornly. “It’s done, Bones, and I’m not going anywhere, so I don’t understand why you are so upset about it.”

“Why I am so upset –” Leonard’s jaw is clenched tight and he drops the tumbler to the table, afraid he’ll crack it right in his palm. “I’m upset because I thought we talked about these things, Jim. I’m upset because I thought that if you were unhappy enough to think about leaving the Enterprise, you would have said something.  I mean,  _Jesus_ , Jim.  How long have you been thinking about this?  How long have you been so unhappy?"

"I just -" Jim huffs out a breath, looks away from Leonard's dark gaze.  "I had some shit to deal with, Bones, and I dealt with it, and now it's over."

"But that's what I mean!" Leonard hollers, his arms flying wide.  "When has your shit not been  _my_ shit?  When have we ever not dealt with it together?"

Jim's shaking his head, his eyes cast down to the floor.  "Some things are different," he says quietly.  

"Jim -"

" _Bones_." It's the voice he uses when he's let Leonard have his say but he's making his final command decision, and that's it.  "It's over."

Leonard lets out a hard breath, then turns away, looks out past the snow globe curves of Yorktown, out into open space. “I guess so,” he breathes.

“Bones.” An arm wraps around his waist, and then Jim’s chest is warm against his back.  It hurts how good it feels, hurts even more to pull away from it. “Bones. Please. Please believe me when I tell you I never meant to hurt you. But it’s done. I’m not going anywhere.”

“And that would be fine, if that was the point, but it isn’t. And the fact that you don’t understand that –” Leonard shakes his head with frustration. “I’m tired, Jim, and you’re keeping Sulu waiting. I’ll see you tomorrow at staff.”

“You’re kicking me out?” Jim’s voice is incredulous.

“I’m going to bed, and you’ve got somewhere to be." Leonard retrieves his tumbler, walks away.  He pauses at the door to the bedroom.  "Good night, Jim.”

There’s a long moment where it feels like Jim might fight it, might force Bones to look at him, but he doesn’t, and Leonard feels Jim step back, hears him swallows hard. “All right,” he says quietly, and Bones closes his eyes against the sound. “I’ll see you around, I guess.”

“Yeah.” The tears are hot against his cheeks. “I guess so.”


	3. Chapter 3

If Jim thinks it's going to be awkward facing Bones at the morning staff meeting, it's nothing compared to the Yorktown's CMO showing up instead.  

"You're not my CMO," he says dumbly.  It's early yet, and the other Enterprise staff has yet to arrive, so he's spared the shame of them seeing Kristofferson's perplexed squint, his antennas dipping down at Jim as if to say,  _seriously, dummy?_

"There is a colony not far from here that has been combating a devastating viral plague," he says instead, choosing to ignore Jim's statement of the obvious.  "They have developed what appears to be a viable vaccine against it but need the help of a specialist to perfect it.  Given that Dr. McCoy specializes in virology, I have asked if he would be willing to assist.  If the vaccine is as viable as hoped, the doctor should only be gone for a week or so."  

"Of course," Jim says immediately.  "Of course, whatever they need.  What kind of timetable are we talking about here?  I mean, I'm sure Bones will be able to fill me in before he leaves, right?"

"Dr. McCoy has already boarded the medical ship for the colony, sir.  They are awaiting only your official approval, as his commanding officer."

Jim's gaze jerks up from the PADD Kristofferson's handed him.  "So it's an emergency."

Kristofferson flushes a deep blue, his antennas sparking bright.  "No," he says slowly, like he senses he's stepped in the middle of something.  "However, Dr. McCoy requested he be allowed to depart immediately."

Jim can't help the short exhalation of breath that escapes.  

 _Oh_. 

Bones has requested an immediate departure away from Yorktown.  

Away from Jim.

 _God damn it, Bones,_ he thinks to himself.   _So this is how it's going to be._

Because what Kristofferson can't know - what nobody else knows - is that there's a routine they have for missions like this, a ritual of sorts for any time one of them is going to away from the ship for any significant period of time.  It's nothing weird - food, discussion, and, sometimes, sex, but always some time together, a sort of  _just in case_  , so that they can say, should something go wrong, that they were straight with each other, nothing left unsaid.   _It's our good luck charm_ , he'd teased Bones more than once, mostly because it never fails to set Bones off in hysterics -  _damn it, Jim, stop trying to tempt fate all the goddamn time, would you_  - but also because he believes it to be true. They both do.  

And now here Bones is, jumping on the first transport he can find, sending someone else to ask permission.  Doing everything he can to _not_ face Jim. 

His jaw clenches in frustration. 

"Captain?  Your approval?"  The antennas are going at it again and Jim realizes the PADD in his hand is flashing a message.   _Assignment authorized?_ it asks him.

"Yeah, of course," he says quietly, sets his thumbprint to the PADD and hands it back to Kristofferson.  The doctor dips an antenna and excuses himself, already on his comm, presumably to confirm that Bones is approved for departure.  

He stands for there for a moment, then pulls out his own comm.

 _I was surprised you sent someone else to do your mission briefing_ , he types out.  What he really wants to type is  _what the fuck, Bones_ , but he's trying to be diplomatic here, least Bones run even further and faster than he already is.

 _Dr. Kristofferson seemed more than capable,_ is Bones's reply, and Jim huffs an angry breath through his nose.

_That's not what I meant and you damn well know it._

There's a long pause, and Jim feels the slightest bit of hope.  A longer response means Bones is actually thinking about what he's saying rather than just tossing out an annoyed  _fuck you_.

But then McCoy's message comes through -  _Did yo_ _u need me to have the ship re-dock so I can come explain it to you, Captain?_ \- and Jim actually chokes on his own spit because, no, he was wrong, _that's_ just about the biggest _fuck you_ Bones could have possibly send him.  

"Fucking asshole," he hisses under his breath, and slams the comm shut.  His heart's beating hard, too hard, and he lays his hand over his heart, tries to breathe slow, the same way Bones would when he sensed Jim become overwhelmed.   _Just breathe, Jim_ , he'd say.   _Just focus on me and breathe_.  

It doesn't help.  In fact, it makes it worse, and Jim feels his chest began to tighten up.

"Captain?"  

He jerks around with a hard _what_ and Chekov actually takes a full step back, his wide eyes going wider in surprise.  "Sir?" he squeaks.

"I -  _yes_ , Mr. Chekov," Jim grits out.  "Yes.  I'm sorry."

"The meeting, sir," Chekov says, and Jim realizes that there's a table full of people waiting for him in the conference room.  "Did you need to postpone?"

 _Yes_ , his chest screams.  "No," he says, shoves the silent comm back in his pocket.  "No.  Dr. McCoy's been sent out on assignment and we'll need to discuss it."  

 


	4. Chapter 4

This is stupid, Jim knows.

It’s too late and he’s had too much to drink and the bar, it’s tucked away from Yorktown’s main plazas but it’s still Yorktown, so he hears it over and over, the awed whispers of, _that’s Jim Kirk over there._ He’s been ignoring it for the last three hours but it’s getting harder, the on-lookers keep getting closer, and it’s becoming increasingly obvious it’s only a matter of time before someone gets up the nerve to actually say something to him, rather than at his back.

It’s stupid to keep sitting here. Common sense is telling him to get his sorry ass up and back to his quarters, to get plastered in private instead of the public eye. It tells him nothing good can come of staying in this place, feeling sorry for himself, bracing himself against the eventual first contact.

But the bar stool is comfortable, and the booze is good, and as far as Jim Kirk is concerned, after the week he’s had, common sense can go fuck itself.

A week ago he was on his ship, his Enterprise; now, his chest aches just to think about her. He mourns every crew member they’ve lost, remembers each of their names, but when his ship was ripped apart, it tore a whole new hole in his heart. She’d kept them safe, brought them home through Nero and Khan and countless other encounters, and then Krall hit them with his bees and there had been nothing he could do but watch her be disemboweled around him.

And the worst part was, he’d be prepared to walk away from her, to leave her in Spock’s hands – not that Spock wouldn’t have cared for her, Jim knows he would have, but that wasn’t the point. Chris Pike hadn’t trusted her to Spock, he’d trusted her to _Jim_ , trusted _Jim_ to protect her and guide her home, and he’d lead her into that nebula instead. It was a moot point now, he thinks darkly, because there’s nothing left to protect; the remains of his girl float around the atmosphere of Altamid, her saucer a flat scar across its surface.

He drains his glass, taps the bar for a refill. His comm shimmies on the bar top, flashing a message light from Spock, something about the delivery of new materials for the 1701-A. He shoots back a quick response and resists the urge to check for a new message from Bones. Again.  
There’s nothing, of course. It’s been two days.

 _Fuck, Bones_.

A week ago he was in his bed, Bones warm around him, warm inside him, stilling the voices and the fears and the restlessness like no one else could. He’s never known what to call this thing with Bones, couldn’t explain it if he tried; all he knows is it works. It _had_ worked, until Jim had hidden his plans from him.

Jim may be stubborn but he’s not stupid, so _yes_ , he understands why Bones was so mad. For ten years, they’ve told each other the truth, and it’s on that foundation that they are able to provide each other the comfort they need. Because they tell each other the truth, they can come together and apart knowing that nothing is in between them, knowing that if something should change – a possible new love, a change in heart – they would be open about it.

But the thing is, he’d tried. When he started to feel the walls closing in, he’d tried to tell Bones, but he couldn’t force the words out, and he’s ended up pouring them into his captain’s log instead, a weakened version at least. And when he’d found out Krall knew all about it, had listened to his logs – even fighting for his life, he’d felt a flush of embarrassment that went right down to his soul.

“You press down on the tumbler any harder and it’s gonna sink right into the bar.”

The unfamiliar voice snaps Jim out of his haze and he’s in an instinctive defense posture before he even knows he’s moving.

“Whoa, there.” The man – it’s a man that’s spoken to him, human, in the uniform of one of the many supply ships that navigate the distance between the edge of the Federation territory and the rest of space. He raises his hands in a non-threatening gesture and takes a small step back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you.”

Kirk huffs out a short breath, tries to calm his beating heart. “No, I’m sorry,” he says finally. “I – I was just off in my own world, I guess.”

“You looked it,” the man teases, and it dawns on Jim that the man’s flirting with him. _Just what I need_ , he thinks sourly. _Someone trying to pick me up so they can have their own Jim Kirk story._

“Listen –” he starts, just as the other man speaks.

“Are you here with Starfleet?”

The question stalls Jim’s own protest in its tracks, and he frowns, because playing stupid has never been a very cute look for him. Except the guy is looking at him, wide-eyed and guileless, like it’s a _real question_ , and Jim thinks, _this guy’s either a really good actor, or he really doesn’t know who I am._

“Yes,” he says tentatively, and the guy gives a shrug.

“Figured. Most of the station is Starfleet guys,” he says. The background music picks up and it forces him to lean in close to be heard, and Jim feels a flood of warmth at the breath on his ear. “I hear we just missed quite the encounter.”

Jim worries at his lip, tries to pull out any subterfuge in the guy’s voice but there’s nothing there, so he just says, “yeah, it was pretty crazy.” When the guy doesn’t laugh in his face, tell him _nice try, Captain_ , he nods his head towards the badge on his shirt. “You’re not Starfleet? You run the shipping lanes?”

The guy nods. “Liked being in space but I wasn’t much interested in all those rules,” he says, and Jim has to laugh, because doesn’t that sound familiar. “So I joined up with one of the companies working the Federation borders. Started on the Yorktown routes right after she opened.” He grins, leans in close, his hand coming to rest on Jim’s knee. “I’m Ryan, by the way.”

“I’m Jim.” He’s realizing now that the guy’s as tall as him, dark-haired, with broad shoulders, just like Bones. The eyes are all wrong – solid brown, none of the greens and golds that betray Bones’s emotions, if you can read them right – but he feels solid next to Jim, and it’s enough to turns him on. Want wars with guilt, _but that’s part of the deal_ , Jim thinks, that he and Bones aren’t exclusive, and besides, Bones is gone, so he leans into the touch, leans into Ryan. “Do you want to dance?” he asks suddenly, and Ryan grins again.

“I was hoping you’d ask that,” he says, and then Jim’s dragging him on to the crowded floor. It’s a low, heavy bass, like the Orion club music Gaila used to play for him, and Jim falls into an easy rhythm, Ryan pressed up tight behind him. And _fuck_ , it feels good to just move, to forgot about the Fleet and his dead ship and his fractured crew. He feels some of the tightness lift, in his shoulders and his hips, and Ryan must feel it too, because he slides a palm over Jim’s belly and puts his mouth to his ear. “You feel like someone who’s in desperate need of a release,” he murmurs in Jim’s ear, and the vibration of his voice makes Jim shiver all over. He turns his head, opens his eyes to respond, and catches a young couple – he recognizes the guy from Yorktown’s stellar cartography labs – watching and whispering. Gossiping.

They look away, guilty at having been caught, and Jim’s jaw clenches in frustration, because is it really too much to ask, just a few hours to himself? Another day he might have sobered up, pulled away and gone home, but today, today he just can’t bring himself to care, and he turns in Ryan’s arms instead, wraps his arms around his neck. The movement forces Ryan’s leg between his and he lets out a soft moan into the other man’s neck, twists his body into the delicious friction. There’s a mouth on his neck now, a hand on his ass, leading him towards a quiet corner, taking control, and Jim doesn’t know if it’s the alcohol or the stress but he doesn’t much care to take it back. Then his back hits the wall and Ryan’s mouth is on his.

It’s strange for a moment, the taste and feel, and it’s instinct for his rational brain to try and do the math, how long it’s been since he’s kissed someone other than Bones. Jim shuts it down quick, reroutes his mental processors by sucking at Ryan’s tongue, and Ryan unknowingly helps, drops a hand to Jim’s crotch. Jim bucks his hips up and Ryan chuckles, a vaguely condescending sound that trips at Jim’s inner alarm. Jim huffs into his mouth, annoyed, and returns the favor, slides his hand down and strokes. The small part of his brain still online flares up with a disappointed _that’s definitely not Bones_ , and Jim groans. _Focus, damn it,_ he swears at himself. _Stop thinking about Bones._

Ryan’s hands are at his belt now, pulling the button on his pants loose, and his breath is hot on Jim’s cheek as he snakes a hand down inside and grabs at Jim’s ass. “I want to fuck you,” he rumbles in Jim’s ear, and squeezes.

The words flash through his body like a shock, like a bucket of cold water over his head, and Jim gasps at the revulsion he feels at the thought of someone other than Bones inside him. He shoves, hard, sends Ryan stumbling away. “No,” he pants out. “No – I can’t. I can’t do this.”

“What – what the hell do you mean you can’t do this?” Ryan grabs for his arm but Jim deflects it easily, ducks away to re-button his jeans, pulls his shirt down straight. “What the fuck, man?”

“I’m sorry,” Jim says, because he is; Jim had kissed him just as hard as he'd been kissed.  It isn’t this guy’s fault he just stepped into a complete and total shit show. “I’m sorry, okay? But I have to go.”

“Look –”

“Captain?”

Jim freezes, prays there’s another captain around somewhere.

 _Maybe Ryan’s a captain. It’s possible_ , he thinks.

“Captain Kirk?”

_Ah, SHIT._

Jim forces a smile to his face. “Hi, there.” The man’s shirt bears his name and the title of Manager, the bar’s logo underneath.

“Is everything okay, Captain?”

“Everything’s fine,” Jim promises. “Everything’s just fine. I was just leaving and Ryan here was getting a drink on my tab. Right, Ryan?”

Ryan blinks twice. “Jim Kirk,” he says, and Jim winces, pinches the bridge of his noise. “Holy shit, _you’re_ Jim Kirk?”

“I have to go,” he says instead. He grabs the manager’s arm, drags him with him as he makes for the door. “Listen, Mr. W’rab-La. What are the chances of us keeping this under wraps?”

“Oh, no one will hear anything from me or any of my employees,” the manager assures him, his tentacle hand waving adamantly. “What the other patrons might say…I’m afraid we have no control over that.”

“No, I don’t suppose you do,” Jim sighs. “I don’t suppose you do.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Captain? A word?”

Spock’s standing in the doorway, hands behind his back, and Jim waves him in. His desk is covered in PADDs, not that Jim’s been able to focus on anything in particular. His hangover is still lingering – physically and mentally - but he refuses to go to the Medbay. Whether it’s an act of stubborn resolve or self-flagellation, he’s not sure. “Of course, Spock. What can I do for you?”

“I am here on a personal matter. As a friend, rather than your first officer.”

 _Ah, shit._ Of course Spock’s heard about what happened. Even without confinement to a ship the Enterprise’s rumor mill still gives Section 31 a run for its credits. Spock says he’s above it, but Jim is pretty sure that’s pure bullshit. Even if he is, he’s still got Uhura to fill him in. “Sure, Spock.”

“It has come to my attention that there has been some gossip circulating amongst the crew. About you. About some…questionable activities you were seen partaking in.”

Jim rubs his eyes. “Yeah, I’m aware of it.”

“It seems highly inappropriate for you to be interacting so publicly in such a way, given your responsibilities as captain.”

“I know. Trust me, I know. I got drunk and stupid and I shouldn’t have. But it’s as simple as that, Spock.”

Spock’s eyes narrow. “That is difficult to believe. The last week has been highly stressful for all of us, and especially you. Also, the laws of causality would suggest a correlation between the events of last night and Dr. McCoy’s having rather abruptly left on assignment.”

“He is, like, at least a third of my self-control,” Kirk admits. Spock quirks an eyebrow. “Okay, yes, fine. The two events are related.”

Spock just waits.

“This assignment,” Kirk says finally. “He’s punishing me.”

“I fail to see how Dr. McCoy fulfilling his duty is a form of punishment.”

“Not that part. The getting his orders and walking straight to the shuttle bay part. The not contacting me at all part.” He turns to Spock, squares his shoulders. “Before we got to Yorktown, I applied for the Vice Admiral position there. After Krall, Commodore Paris told me it was mine if I wanted it, but I turned it down. Couldn’t bear that thought of not being out there, you know?”

Spock gives a tiny smirk. “I am familiar with the thought.” He cants his head. “That is what you were going to speak with me about? That you were considering leaving the Enterprise?”

Kirk nods. 

“I was considering leaving as well,” Spock says, and Kirk’s mouth slacks open in surprise, “to continue Ambassador’s Spock’s work on New Vulcan. But after the events on Altamid, I found myself…reconsidering this approach.”

For a few moments Kirk is still before he breathes out a rough sigh. “Well, shit. We both had one foot out the door, I guess.”

“Indeed. But I still fail to see what this has to do with the doctor’s current mission.”

“I never told him,” Kirk admits, and the eyebrow flies up to the edge of Spock’s bangs in what Kirk has come to realize is Spock’s version of _are you shitting me_. “I never even told him I was considering putting in for the position, let alone that I had. But I figured I turned it down, what did it matter in the end.” He huffs out a forced laugh. “And then Commodore Paris comes to him for a headache and spills the beans on me.”

“It was illogical to assume this would not make itself know,” Spock chastises.

"You didn’t tell me about New Vulcan!”

“I had not made any formal notice to Starfleet,” Spock counters, “nor had I alerted New Vulcan of my plans. The only person I had discussed it with was Lieutenant Uhura, and later, on Altamid, Dr. McCoy.”

“You told _Bones_?”

Spock narrows his eyes. “It was a conversation forced by the circumstances,” he says; the _focus, Jim_ remains unspoken. “So the doctor was upset when he learned you had not discussed your plans with him.”

“Yeah, that’s putting it nicely,” Jim grunts. “He just about ripped me a new one.”

“A new what?”

“A new – never mind. He was just really angry. I tried to tell him it wasn’t a big deal, that he was worried about nothing. That did _not_ go over well.”

"I will not pretend to understand your relationship with the doctor,” Spock says, and here, Jim huffs out a laugh because _shit, join the club_ , "but it appears as if he came to you with his concerns and you negated his feelings.” He's got that tone in his voice he uses when he feels Jim has done something really, really stupid and left Spock to clean up the damage. “I can see now why the doctor would be eager to leave for his assignment.”

“Wow, Spock,” Jim mutters. “Tell us how you really feel.”

“You reinforced the doctor’s initial concern, namely, that you do not consider his input or feelings to be of importance. If there is anything I have learned from my relationship with Lieutenant Uhura, it is that this is to be avoided at all costs.” Spock’s even gaze is too much and Jim buries his face in his hands because he’s been in embarrassing situations before, but _Jesus_ , getting a counseling session from Spock just about takes the cake. “He left and you then lashed out by seeking sexual congress with a stranger.”

Jim cringes, thinks he might throw up a little in his mouth. “Spock, no offense, but if I never hear you say the words ‘sexual congress’ again, it will be too soon.”

“Would you rather I use a colloquialism? You ‘hooked up with some dude’ – ”

“No,” Jim hollers, holding his hands up in surrender. “No, please.”

Spock purses his lips. 

“Where the hell do you learn that from – no, _no_ , never mind, I don’t want to know. Okay, fine. Let’s assume you’re right.” Spock gives him a look: _there’s no need to assume_. “So what do I do then?”

"Obviously, you need to speak with the doctor and reconfirm the importance of his opinion in your decision making processes, particularly in regard to your personal lives,” Spock says.

_Christ. I just got told by a Vulcan I need to share my emotions. If that’s not sad I don’t know what is._

"Jim?”

“Yeah,” Jim says, “yeah. I got you, Spock. I’m on it. And…” He takes a deep breath, straightens his spine. “Thanks. For…whatever this was.”

“It was a conversation,” Spock says slowly, and Jim sighs.

“Yeah, no, I know. That’s not what I – you know what, it’s not important. Just…thanks.”


	6. Chapter 6

The blank screen stares at Jim.

He's started the message a dozen times, erased it just as many.  

In the end, he just goes with the simple truth.

_I'm sorry I didn't tell you.  Please let me explain._

xxxxxx

A few hours later, he gets a response.  

He reads it, and the ache in his chest eases just a little.

 _I'm sorry I left like I did_.

xxxxxx

Three days later and Bones is back.  

The vaccine works; the colony will recover.  Jim's there to meet him at the bay but Bones is barely off the shuttle before Kristofferson is ushering him away for a debriefing with Starfleet Medical HQ, so Jim just catches his eye and nods.

Bones's face stays flat but there's a soft brush of fingers as he passes, just a split second of warm skin against Jim's, and he smiles.

xxxxxx

Jim's going over specs for the 1701-A's core when his door chime rings.  He keys the door open, and Bones steps in.  He's still in uniform, and Jim tugs self-consciously at the thin material of his pajama bottoms.  

"Hey," he says finally, and Leonard huffs out a breath.

"Hey."  He sounds tired, worn-down.  His hair is a mess, spiked from him running his hands through it in frustration, and Jim longs to reach out and smooth it into place.  "I, uh, I'm sorry it's so late."

"Don't worry about it."  He hesitates, then reaches out and tugs on the hem of Leonard's wrinkled shirt.  "You wanna go change out of that?  There's some sweats on my dresser."

Leonard blinks, surprised, before he graces Jim with a tiny smile.  "Yeah.  That'd be great."

Jim nods.  Leonard disappears into the bathroom, and Jim hears the sonic turn on and off.  A few minutes later, he reemerges, looking slightly more comfortable in a long-sleeved shirt and sweatpants.  Jim sets aside his PADD, watches as Leonard seems to struggle, unsure if he should stand or sit, before he finally comes around the coffee table to share the couch with Jim.  

For a long moment, they just stare at each other.

"I'm sorry for leaving the way I did." Leonard's voice is quiet.  "It didn't matter how mad I was, I shouldn't have done that."

"It's okay," Jim says automatically, before he catches himself, shakes his head.   _Fuck the bullshit platitudes_ , he thinks.   _That's what got us here._   "No.  I mean - you're right, you shouldn't have.  But I understand why you did."  

"I was so mad, Jim," Leonard says, and Jim braces himself, "I was so mad you hadn't told me, and then you - you acted like I shouldn't have cared about it, like I didn't have  _a right_  to care about it.  And I felt like - like you thought I was trying to  _control_ you or something, like I was  _imposing_ myself on your life.  And so when Kristofferson told me about the assignment -" He shakes his head.  "There was a part of me that felt you'd be happy to be free of me."

" _Bones_ ," Jim breathes, his voice cracking on the short sound.  "Bones, I never felt like that, never.  It broke my heart watching you fly away."

A strong hand wraps around his, twines their fingers together in a silent apology, and Jim squeezes, accepting it.  He takes a deep breath, looks Bones in the eyes.  "I'm sorry.  I didn't tell you the truth, and when you confronted me about it, I blew you off, made it seem like there wasn't any reason for either of us to care.  And that - that's the opposite of everything we are, Bones.  It's the opposite of how we work."

There's a moment of relief that flashes gold across Leonard's eyes and his shoulders sag, an invisible weight lifted.  "Thank you," he says quietly.  His thumb strokes against the soft skin of Jim's inner wrist, sending a flash of pleasure up Jim's arm, and he turns in closer, lets their knees brush together. But he can feel it; Leonard is still holding his tongue, anxious.  

"Just say it."

"Why didn't you tell me?" he says in a rush, and Jim exhales hard, pulls his hand free.  He pushes off the couch and starts to pace the short distance of the living area.  "Christ, Jim, how bad could it possibly be that you can't trust me?"

"It's not that I don't trust you," Jim says immediately.  "Bones - it's got nothing to do with you."

Leonard makes a disbelieving noise and Jim sighs, scrubs his hands against his face.  "Fuck.  Okay.  So you know - you know growing up was kind of shit for me.  And sometimes - sometimes the only thing that got me through was this stubborn belief that someday, somehow, I would get my ass out of Iowa and  _do something_ with my life.  Then Chris Pike shows up and I enlist and meet you and - suddenly, it was kind of like the universe was making up for it all, you know?  I wanted a ship, I got the flagship.  I wanted to be captain one day, I went straight from cadet to captain with no stops in between.  I wanted the most prestigious missions, we got sent out in the deep space for five years."

"You got those things because you earned them.  You _died_ for them," Leonard argues, and Jim frowns, gives him an eye like  _let me talk_.  

"So I've got everything I've ever wanted.  I've got my ship and my crew and I've got  _you_ , Bones, my best friend who hates space but is out here on the edges of known space because  _I_ asked him to be there.  My best friend who lets me come to him -" he clenches his jaw, looks away.  "Who takes care of me and expects nothing in return.  Who doesn't ask me to change."

"Jim." It's a soft whisper.  "Jim, we take care of each other."

"I had it all," Jim says, and it's as if Bones hasn't even spoken, "I had it all, and it still wasn't enough.  It was still there, Bones, that _restlessness_ , and I tried to fight it, I did, but I just started to feel like I was  _suffocating._ So I ran."  He sags into the armchair, drops his face into his hands.  "I ran from the ship that Chris Pike entrusted to me.  From the crew that had fought with me, _for me._ It was the coward's way out, and I did it anyway."  

There's the sound of movement and then a warm hand around his neck, a solid press against his leg.  When Leonard speaks it's low and calm.  "We were in the middle of the longest mission ever attempted, trapped with each other for three years straight, constantly sailing into the unknown.  Jim, I'd've been worried about you if you weren't feeling somehow out of sorts.  It doesn't make you a coward."

"No, just an ingrate," Jim mutters, and the hand around his neck gives him a little shake.

"It makes you  _human_ ," Leonard chastises.  "God, Jim, you put so much fucking pressure on yourself, no wonder you felt like you couldn't breathe."  

"I was ashamed," Jim whispers, almost to himself.  "I was ashamed I couldn't take it."

Leonard breathes out a soft curse and pulls Jim closer, presses his forehead against Jim's.  "That's why you didn't tell me?" 

Jim shrugs.  "Yeah.  That, and - Bones, you're out here because of me."

"I'm here because I chose to be," he counters, and Jim frowns.

"Don't get me wrong.  You are your own man and you make your own decisions.  But Bones, can you really tell me that if I had not asked you to come with, you would have taken a position aboard a ship?"

He has to concede the point.  "So what, you thought I'd be mad at you for leaving me here?" he asks, and Jim shakes his head, drops his gaze away.  "You thought I'd expect you to stay?"

"I was going to ask you to come with me," Jim says, and Leonard blinks in surprise.  "I was going to ask you to come with me because I knew you would say yes.  I knew you would uproot your entire life,  _again_ , just because I was a selfish brat."  

His mouth opens like he's about to argue but it's true, he would have.  He'd follow Jim to hell and back if he just asked him.

"Who I am to do that to you, Bones."  Jim melts back into the chair, brings his arm up to cover his eyes against the light.  "Who am I to ask that of you?"

"Jim."  He tugs at his arm, pulls him close.  "Jim, look at me."

"That's why I didn't tell you.  If I didn't tell you, you wouldn't know I running away.  That I was going to guilt you into running with me."

" _Jim_."  He grabs his chin, forces him to look him in the eye.  "Damn it, you've said your piece.  Now let me talk."  Jim twists his face away but Leonard holds tight and Jim relents, holds his gaze through a thick fan of eyelashes.  "You ask who you are to ask that of me, Jim.  You get to ask that of me because you're my best friend.  My best friend, and the man I love."

The muscles under his hands freezes up and Jim's breath catches loud in his chest.  "You love me?" he asks, and it breaks his heart, the disbelief in Jim's voice.  

"You really have to ask?" he says, and Jim flushes bright.  

"I love you too," he whispers, as if it's something he's not allowed to say, and Leonard smiles, presses a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"Yeah, Jim," he says softly.  "I know you do."

"I didn't want to fail you," Jim says, his voice tight.  His hands come up to claw at Leonard's shirt, pulling him close, and Bones goes.  "I just - I can't fail you, Bones.  Not you."

"You could never fail me," Leonard says firmly.  He kisses Jim, sucks at his lower lip.  "Please believe me when I tell you that, darlin'."

Jim doesn't answer in words, just in a soft whimper and a hand in Leonard's thick hair, and kisses him, hard and frantic.  He's almost in Leonard's lap now and the table creaks under their weight.  

"Jim," Bones pants.  "Jim.  The bed."

Jim nods against him, pulls him with him when he stands, and then he's leading him backwards into the bedroom.  His hands run up under Leonard's shirt, palms hot against his ribs, and Leonard pulls back just long enough to yank it up over his head.  "Yours," he gasps, and Jim pulls his own shirt off, pushes Leonard down against the bed.  He takes just enough time to grab the lube from the bedside table before he follows Leonard down, grins when he moans at the weight of Jim on top of him, hard and eager.  He shoves a hand under the waistband of Jim's pants and squeezes the soft flesh there.

"There's something else I need to tell you," Jim gasps out, and Leonard stills, eyes wide, his breath coming in short pants.  "When you were gone - I went to this bar one night, was halfway to drunk when this guy came up to me."  He feels Leonard stiffen beneath him and grabs his wrists, holds him where he is.  "He didn't know who I was, Bones, just thought I was some cute guy, so I asked him to dance, and we kissed and -"

"You slept with him," Leonard says, his voice flat in forced calmness.

"He wanted to fuck me," Jim admits, and Leonard breathes out hard through his nose.

"I don't understand why you're telling me this -"

"He wanted to fuck me, and I told him no," Jim says over him, and Leonard's mouth closes with a click.  "Actually I yelled it, and shoved him so hard he almost went ass over tea-kettle."  He loosens his grip on Leonard's wrists the same time he grinds his hips down and Leonard gasps out his name.  "You wanna know why I said no, Bones?"

Leonard's hips flex up into his, desperately seeking the friction he needs.  "Tell me," he pants out.  

"Because the instant he grabbed me I realized something," Jim breathes.  He's so close his lips brush Leonard's as he speaks.  "I realized you're the only one I want, Bones.  The only one I want to fix me, and the only one I want to fuck me."

There's split second where Leonard goes completely still, and then he's flipping Jim beneath him with a deep growl that makes Jim's dick twitch.  "Fuck, yes," he snarls, rips down Jim's loose pants and wraps his hand around his cock, and Jim can't help the whimper that bleeds from his throat.  "You're all mine, aren't you, darlin'?"

"Yes," Jim whines, "yours, Bones, please -" Leonard sinks a slick finger into him and Jim keens, presses back against him.  "Baby, _please_."

"That's it," Leonard praises, a second finger joining the first, "that's it, Jim, spread your legs for me, darlin'."

Jim obeys, pulls his legs wide as Bones yanks off his own sweats, kicks them loose.  "Do it," he begs.  "Bones -"

Leonard grabs his hips, pulls him high in his lap, and then he's pushing in, sinking deep inside, and Jim cries out against the perfect edge of pleasure and pain.  Leonard holds still for a few moments, pelvis flush against Jim's skin, before he pulls out slow, shoves back in.  Jim digs his hands into Leonard's shoulder, his side, wraps his legs tight around his back, pulls him just a little bit deeper.  Leonard moans, thrusts fast and hard, his mouth hot and wet against Jim's neck.  His cock weeps against his stomach, untouched, and Jim knows, neither of them will last long.

" _Bones_."  He wraps a hand in that thick dark hair, pulls Leonard up to look him in the eyes.  Leonard's pupils are blown wide with lust, his face flushed and hot.  "Bones, promise me, it's just us now, no one else."

"Jim," Bones pants, leans down to kiss him, and it forces Jim's leg up and wide, "Jim, it's only ever been you."

 Jim nods, frantic, and he can feel his orgasm building, snaking down his spine.  "You wanna know one more thing?" he whispers into Leonard's ear.  "All this time, no matter who else there was, it's like I must have known that because, Bones -" Leonard slams his hips deep, and Jim moans, because that's it, he's coming, spurting wet and sticky between them, "you're the only one, Bones, the only one I ever let come inside me."

The cry that rips through Leonard echoes loud in Jim's ears as he comes, hard and deep, and Jim wraps his limbs around him tight, forces him to collapse into him.  Leonard whimpers out his name, a soft benediction of  _God, Jim, darlin'_ , against his skin.  

"Bones," Jim whispers back.  Leonard is heavy on him, making it hard to breath, but Jim refuses to let go.  "Fuck, I love you so much."

Leonard drags in a deep breath, pushes up just enough for Jim to be able to do the same.  "Let me get something to clean us up," he murmurs, presses a kiss to Jim's temple before he slips into the bathroom, comes back with a wet washcloth.  He washes Jim gently, dropping kisses along his chest and arms as he goes, before tossing the cloth in the direction of the laundry chute.  Jim wraps a hand around his neck, pulls him down close again.

"Stay," he says quietly, searching Leonard's face for any sign of hesitation, but Leonard only smiles, kisses him slow and sweet.

"Jim, darlin'," he murmurs as he lays himself down, wraps his arms tight around Jim, "all you had to do was ask."


End file.
